


Sexual Addiction Clinics Are Not Dating Services

by Anon1Adult



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon1Adult/pseuds/Anon1Adult
Summary: Dean pressed a hand to his forehead in frustration.He gets caught having sex with one coworker over his desk and suddenly his boss is standing in his office saying, "Your work here at Sandover is invaluable Dean, and we don't want to lose that sharp mind of yours over a little misunderstanding. Instead of having this go in your file as a sexual harassment complaint we've decided you should attend a 30-day Sexual Addiction treatment center."It was like the bad setup to every porn Dean had ever watched.





	Sexual Addiction Clinics Are Not Dating Services

**Author's Note:**

> Great liberties were taken in regard to Addiction Treatment Centers Staff/Client interactions.  
> This is a PWP, so please excuse me as I fabricate a situation in which they can do the dirty.
> 
>  
> 
> And, once again, I did that thing where I didn't have a beta look it over so be on the lookout for the various ways I "drugged a chair across the floor".  
> (Feel free to point out mistakes in the comments, or just point and laugh in general. *shrug*)

A sharp rap at the door brought Dean’s head up to Zachariah standing in his doorway.

“Do you have a minute Dean?” His boss asked with that false politeness that was a poor disguise for demanding one’s full, and immediate attention. 

Dean glanced at the blinking cursor of his document, committing ‘764 Assembly Harness’ to memory. “Mr. Adler, What can I do for you?”

Zachariah closed the door behind him, and Dean felt his stomach drop as he took one of the visitor seats. 

“Dean, you’ve been with us for a long time, wouldn’t you say?” 

Dean nodded trying to wrack his brain for what Zachariah could be fishing after. “It’ll be five years this August.” 

“And in those five years, you’ve been an exemplary employee.”

Dean preened and gave his boss a small smile, "Thank you, Sir. That means a lot coming from you."

Zachariah continued, "You've never a missed day without notice, vacations always planned around monthly status meetings. This quarter was the 3rd year you've turned a profit for this division." He pulled a colorful pamphlet from his suit jacket and offered it to Dean across the desk. "That's why we're insisting you take some time to find a more-" he paused as if searching for the right word, "- _suitable_ outlet for your after hours activities." 

Dean's head snapped up from examining the folded paper, "Excuse me?"

Zachariah held up his hands in mock defense, "We're not saying stop, but we at Sandover pride ourselves on upkeeping the highest of family values-"

Dean felt the blood drain from his face, "Sir if I could-"

"No need to explain, if I were a younger man," He gave Dean a sly wink that made Dean's skin crawl. “But it was reported to Human Resources, and on your behalf, I've agreed you would attend a 30-day addiction treatment center."

Dean found he couldn't get his brain to process the _absurdity_ of what was happening.

"Sir, it's hardly an addiction-"

Zachariah continued as if he hadn't heard Dean. "We're hoping this center will be able to curb some of your urges," he dropped his voice and leaned forward as if sharing a conspiracy, "or at least provide you a better understanding of how to hide it." 

Shaking the shock and flipping the smiling -yet mocking- faces of the pamphlet to the surface of his desk, Dean protested, "Sir, this really isn't necessary. I'm more than capable of keeping," he paused shoving his embarrassment aside, "this out of the office."

His boss gave him a patronizing look, "Now now Dean. We both know this isn't the first time you've used your office as a surrogate whore house." 

Dean felt humiliation well up in his chest.

"The company has generously decided to cover the 30-day treatment and if you feel you need a longer treatment plan the board has agreed to reevaluate the possibility of paying for a 60-day stay."

Dean sputtered, his voice jumping in pitch in disbelief "This-This has made it to the _board_?"

Zachariah stood and tugged the tail of his tie straight before buttoning his jacket, "Just shows how valuable we feel you are here Dean. Think of it as a self-improvement conference. A vacation even."

He flicked the cat's cradle until the rhythmic clacking of the metal balls tapped together filled the space. Dean glanced back down at the pamphlet under his hand.

"All your reservation information is inside. The center is expecting you before the end of 48 hours."

Dean snatched the Bluetooth out of his ear and stood, "Zachariah, this isn't necessary-"

"We'll see you in a month Dean," Zachariah called before disappearing through the door, closing it behind him.

 

\- - -

 

Dean's last cigarette had been his Junior year of college, and he'd quit cold turkey. His nerves were wound so tight he was tempted to pull off the road and pick up a pack at the nearest gas station.

The last thing he wanted was some shrink over analyzing his life to figure out why he liked sex so much. 

It was stupid to question; It felt good, and it wasn’t hurting anyone. Win-Win on all sides because Dean fancied himself a gentleman and always made sure his partner had a good time. 

Taking the long scenic driveway to the center did nothing but remind him of Zachariah’s taunting “Think of it as a vacation.”

If Dean didn’t have such a reign on his temper, he could easily see himself stabbing Zachariah in his smarmy face one day. 

The lobby looked like a clinically clean version of a 5-star hotel lobby. Complete with roaring fireplace and tasteful chairs positioned around it. 

The low din of milling about people was absent, but it was covered up nicely by a bubbling water feature near the entrance doors. 

“You must be Mr. Smith.” A thin man called out as he rounded the short wall of the reception desk. 

“Please, just Dean is fine,” Dean answered holding out his hand to greet him properly. 

The man completely ignored his outstretched hand and Dean found himself wrapped in a deceptively firm hug.

“It’s so good to meet you, Dean. I’m Garth.” Garth smiled, offering no further explanation.

“Uh, hi.”

“Come on in, and we’ll get your paperwork sorted out in the flick of a bear’s tail.”

Dean let the horrible metaphor wash over him and took a calming breath. 

This was about to be his life for the next month. He could handle this; he regularly sat through Naomi’s SOP Meetings. He could handle this.

Garth set a rather thick waiver form on the counter with that easy smile of his. Dean allowed himself a small sigh and snagged a pen before he started reading.

If he couldn’t handle this, it was only his _career_ on the line.

 

Once the paperwork was signed, co-signed, and stamped with the date, Garth held up a soft plastic medical bracelet. In neat type it had Dean’s name, blood type, and drug allergy.

“I almost forgot,” Garth informed him with a bashful smile. 

Sighing in resignation, Dean offered him his wrist, and with deft hands, Garth wrapped the band around his wrist just loose enough to ignore.

“Hey Garth-” a tall man with shaggy hair came around the corner with his head buried in a clipboard, “-did my package come-Oh.” He trailed off when he noticed Dean standing at the desk. 

Dean sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down to keep himself from offering his own package for the man’s approval. 

Not a good idea to hound after the help when he was trying to prove he could keep himself from hounding the help. 

 

“Sam, you’re right on time.” Garth cheered, “Dean, this is Sam. Sam here will be overseeing your journey back to health,” Garth informed him, “and after your first few sessions, he will recommend which other forms of therapy you’ll be best suited to join. Hopefully, you’ll be a member of our Monday morning group session.” 

Dean offered his hand to Sam, secretly hoping hugs were a mandatory part of greeting at this clinic. When Sam took his hand, Dean hid his disappointment with a wolfish grin. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean,” Sam said politely. 

“Pleasure is mine,” Dean assured him. 

Dean counted it as a win when Sam hesitated a moment longer to release his hand and shoved it into his pocket. A forced casual move if Dean had ever seen one.

“Is this your first time at our center?” Sam asked.

“Fortunately.” Dean scoffed picking at his medical band. 

Sam’s silence had Dean glancing up. Sam was studying him with a frown deepening between his eyebrows. 

At Dean’s own eyebrow raise Sam gave a halfhearted shrug, “You look _really_ familiar.” 

“Hmmm,” Dean hummed in disagreement, “I’m sure I’d remember you.” 

Before Sam could respond Garth handed him a piece of paper drawing his attention away, “Sam, why don’t you begin your introductory session with Dean while I bring his things to his room?” 

“Of course.” Sam agreed, tucking his clipboard under his arm with a long practiced move. He inclined his head for Dean to follow him, “We’ll be in the first room down the hallway.”

 

\- - -

 

The room Sam led him to was lit with natural sunlight that spilled in from the large floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a perfectly manicured garden. The room was complete with plush cream colored furniture and a tall potted plant in the corner. 

“Take a seat where you feel comfortable.” Sam offered.

Dean contemplated sitting in the armchair as it was almost obviously where Sam would sit, but he decided the faster he got with the program, the sooner they’d brand him “cured”.

He settled on the long couch and tucked a pillow under his arm, folding his hands over his lap.

Sam took the seat across from him and with the click of his pen, Dean announced, “I don’t need to be here.” 

Long familiar with patients in denial, Sam suggested, “You could have joined a 12-step program?”

“Then I would be admitting I have a problem.” Dean pointed out.

Sam smiled to himself, at least Dean could recognize he was in denial. He flipped a few pages into his clipboard re-familiarizing himself with Dean’s application paperwork. “And you’re here-” 

Mistaking the pause for prompting, Dean answered, “Because I was having sex with my secretary during business hours.”

“-Because you were caught.” Sam finished, letting the papers fall back. 

Dean raised his eyebrows at him, stunned by his bluntness.

“How long have you been having sex with your secretary?” Sam continued, watched as Dean gathered himself to answer. 

“It was just the once.” Dean defended. “Quarterly deadlines had me in the office until 10:00 PM for the past few weeks, and she offered.”

“If you had help with your projects do you think you wouldn’t keep such late hours?” Sam asked. 

“I can’t trust the numbers will line up if I delegate even half of the Quarterly reports.” 

Sam made a note on his chart. It seemed the faster he could make Dean answer his questions the more he could see the person behind the mask he presented. 

“Have you slept with any of your other co-workers?” Sam asked.

Dean heaved a long sigh, “Look, I don’t have a problem-” 

“You don’t have to tell me who they are; you can just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” Sam cut in.

Waiting out Dean’s silence, Sam was rewarded with his frustrated exhale before Dean snapped, “Yes. Have you always been this pushy?” 

“I’ve been called a control freak,” Sam answered, surprising himself with his honesty. Apparently, the person behind Dean’s mask brought out Sam’s own smart mouth. 

“What do you find most attractive in a partner?” 

“Leggy, dark hair. Flexible,” Dean paused a moment for emphasis, “work hours.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at the answer, a smile pulling at his lips before Dean inclined head and asked a question of his own. “Your siblings call you a control freak?”

“Friends. Only child,” Sam explained, “What the longest you’ve ever gone without sex?”

“Since college, I had a 3-day weekend at the parents and couldn’t get out. How did you get into asking people about their sex lives?”

“Bad guidance counselor.” Sam answered immediately, slightly reveling in the comfort they were settling into, “What event started your sexual activity?”

Briefly taking his lower lip between his teeth in thought, Dean admitted, “Helped a College Professor late one night do some filing.”

“I’m sure you did.” Sam deadpanned. 

Dean grinned at him before countering, “Where’d you go to school?” 

“It’s my turn to ask a question.” Sam protested. Dean made a sweeping gesture and kept silent. “What attracted you to this Professor?” 

“She’s a friend of the family,” Dean said with a shrug, “I always thought she had this hot cougar-vibe about her and it just kind of happened.” His voice trailed off defensively. 

Quickly noting it as something to look further into, Sam took pity on him and answered his out of turn question, “I had a full ride to Stanford, then switched to University of Kansas.” Dean blinked at him in confusion, but before he could question it, Sam followed up with, “What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without masturbating?” 

Dean huffed a humorless laugh, “How long have I been here?” 

Sam tried to fight down a smile, “Is that your question, or is that your answer?” 

“My answer.” Dean teased, “Did you change majors halfway through college?” 

Sam hesitated for only a moment before answering truthfully, “I was kicked out for fighting.” 

Dean barked a short laugh, “You rebel, you.”

Sam ignored the victory he felt at Dean’s reaction, “How long do your relationships typically last?”

“I wouldn’t call them relationships.” Dean mused, sucking briefly at his bottom lip before giving Sam a flirtatious grin, “More like mutually assured pleasure.” 

The way he said it raised warning bells in the back of Sam’s mind. Warnings that indicated he was about to find something important. Something pivotal. 

“Why do you feel you keep coming back to sex?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and rolled a wrist in an approximation of a shrug, “Because it feels good?”

“What about it specifically?” Sam frowned at himself; his mouth was getting ahead of his mind again. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

That sly smirk of Dean’s grew, and Sam fought to not squirm in his seat. “Don’t want to hear about how well I can fuck?” 

“Not particularly.” Sam lied with a straight face.

“Don’t want to hear how long I have to finger or eat my partner out before I’m able to get inside?” Dean licked his lips distracted as if lost in thought.

Sam’s grip on his pencil tightened as he licked his own lips instinctively and watched as Dean’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue.

“Don’t want to learn how I stay hard as long as it takes for my partner to get off?” Dean teased. “Don’t want to know I rarely come before I’ve felt my partner in the throws of their own orgasm?”

Sam cleared his throat and tried to refocus, “You keep saying “partner” does that mean-“

“That I would swallow your dick down without a second thought.” Dean offered easily. “I’ve never had a complaint about my cowboy technique either.” 

His mouth suddenly dry, Sam swallowed and dropped his gaze back down to his notes, scribbling _bisexual_ almost to keep his thoughts at bay. 

“Have you ever been told you have fox eyes?” Dean suddenly asked.

Sam blinked up at him, “Have what?” 

“Never mind.” Dean dismissed, jumping back into their back and forth question game, “Have you ever been fired from a job?”

Sam narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “No, I have never been fired from a job.” 

Dean’s grin turned predatory, “Do you want to try?” 

The pen snapped in Sam’s hand, but the only acknowledgment either of them gave the sound was Dean’s cocky smile growing.

“Highly unprofessional.” Sam accused, his voice thicker than normal. 

Dean gave an easy shrug, “Figured I’d proposition you first seeing as there are people here who actually need this type of help.” 

Sam must not have hidden his shock very well because Dean laughed and waved him off, “I’m kidding. I’ll be good.” He raked his gaze over Sam and his smile turned mischievous, “Try to be anyway.” 

“Dean." Sam enounced with as much authority as he could muster, "I know you don’t think you need to be here, so the agreement forms you signed probably were skimmed at best-“ 

“Hey!” 

“But please, for the love of God, do not sleep with any of the other patients.”

The playful smile fell off Dean’s face and was replaced with the flawless façade of the businessman Sam knew -without a doubt- was the reason his company was so insistent on keeping him. 

“When I sign a contract I read every word,” Dean promised. “My hand may have been forced to get me here, but I wouldn’t have signed that paper if I didn’t think I could adhere to every guideline.” 

Sam mutely nodded, relieved Dean did seem to understand the seriousness of the possible repercussions. 

Dean’s easy smile returned when he continued, “And nowhere in those release forms did it say _you_ were off limits.”

\- - -

 

Having organized his notes, Sam decided his first session with Dean was a disaster. 

Yeah, he might have learned enough to move a direction their next session; but in the same span of time, Sam had cultivated affection for the smartass that went beyond the regular comradery he felt for his patients. 

Sam recognizing Dean would benefit from joining a Group session. Their back and forth had indicated his desire for a personal connection before he showed the cards close to his vest. And Sam felt guilty for initially not wanting to recommend it because that would mean sharing Dean and the possessive part of Sam rebelled against the very thought. 

Never before had Sam had to fight such an overwhelming desire to call a patient _his_ but that’s what he wanted Dean to be. It was selfish, and childish, and illogical because they'd just met, but it didn't make it any less true.

Sam consoled himself that the group session really would be in Dean's best interest. 

Anyone could see that Dean was a regular social butterfly. Sam only real conciliation was that the Group Lead would be Garth. 

Garth was about as threatening as a new born kitten, and he was _exceptionally_ good at his job.

 

\- - - 

 

Sam stood outside Dean's door for a half moment longer than necessary to gathered himself.

Dean had been checked in for three days now, and every session they’d had so far had thrown Sam's professionalism right out the window. 

There was no denying Dean's attractiveness, but that could be said for half of the patients registered with the clinic. He simultaneously managed to push all of Sam's buttons, yet made him feel like he had a confidant. 

It was as if talking with Dean was like slipping into a conversation with an old friend. Being bounced around from foster home to foster home hadn't allowed Sam to settle roots anywhere, let alone make friends but something about Dean-

Sam took a deep breath to knock himself free of the train of thought and pushed open the door.

Instead of going through the files his company had faxed over the day before, Dean was lying on the bed. The papers hazardously stacked on the nightstand.

He had an arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun coming through the windows.

"How are you doing Dean?"

Dean didn't move his forearm away from where it rested against his eyes. "Oh good. The doctor is here." He drawled. 

Sam pulled the desk chair to the bed and straddled it backward, hunching a little as he settled on to the small seat, balancing his clipboard on the chair back. 

"That good, huh?"

Sitting up, Dean scooted so he was leaning back against the wall and could stare directly at Sam. "I can't focus."

"We knew the withdrawals would start soon.” Sam reminded him. 

Dean huffed a humorless laugh, "Still don't believe Sex Addiction is a real thing." 

"You're here aren't you?"

"Only because the board of directors- who are all probably on all kinds of hard dick pills- know about my sex life and think I need to be here."

Sam made a note on his clipboard, "Have you noticed other symptoms? Any changes to anything else? "

Dean gestured to his crossed legs, "It feels like my balls are swollen."

"They probably are." Sam agreed flipping a page to make another note.

Dean huffed a resigned sigh, "And I've got, what? Three days to go before I'm-" he held up his hands to figure quote, " _detoxed_?" 

Sam studied him for a long moment while Dean watched him back. 

"I can get you something so it's not so noticeable." Sam offered.

Dean closed his eyes and bounced his head gently against the wall a few times, "Would rather just jerk off."

They sat in silence for a long moment.

Sam ran his thumb across the edge of his clipboard a few times before he got up the courage to offer, "I could always milk you."

The next time Dean swallowed his throat clicked.

His voice was tight when he asked, "You what?"

"It's not something I'd offer to, well anyone, but you're-" Sam paused and frowned a bit before continuing, "It'll help relieve the pressure and help you concentrate." 

"I'm up for anything at this point," Dean admitted.

Sam stood and moved the chair back to its position against the wall. "I'll be right back."

Dean dropped a hand to his crotch and pressed against his dick, sending a zing of pleasure through his body.

"Don't touch yourself," Sam instructed before he closed the door. 

Dean dropped his head back with a groan.

Sam came back a few moments later with the clipboard tucked under his arm and medical gloves in his hand. 

He used a key from his pocket to flip the hidden lock on the door, "Take off your pants and kneel on the bed."

Dean silently, and quickly obeyed, folding his pants across the end of the bed he knelt on the bed and bracing himself on his forearms. 

Sam worked the gloves on, hyper aware of the soft snapping sound they made when they settled into place. In a moment of panic, Sam had raided the First Aid kit for a single use ‘burn gel’ to use as lube. There was less risk than Garth asking why he was rooting around in the supply closet during one of his sessions. 

With Dean's bare ass in the air, Sam couldn't resist running a hand over the smooth globe. 

"This might feel weird at first," Sam warned. 

"I've had a finger in my ass before, thanks." Dean drawled watching Sam over his shoulder. 

"Medical procedure." Sam emphasized, "I'm going to talk you through it." 

"Because if you talk through it, it takes away the intimacy." Dean acknowledged.

Sam blinked in realization. He had been unknowingly trying to create a mental buffer between himself and Dean. But Dean continued to see past the barriers and understand him, almost without words, at every turn. 

Sam circled a lube slicked finger against Dean's puckered entrance without warning, causing Dean to jerk in shock at the cold prodding. "Going to add some lube now." Sam said, his delayed warning earning a scoffed "Asshole" from Dean as he relaxed further onto the bed. 

"First finger," Sam warned as he eased his finger into Dean's hole. 

Dean's back muscles tensed as Sam pressed in past the second knuckle, twisting his finger to prepare him for the second finger. As Dean became familiar with the intrusion, he dropped his forehead to press against the bed, his knees widening a bit further to allow Sam easier access.

Sam had to swallow before he could voice the next action, "Second finger." 

The second finger slipped in as easily as the first, the tight heat around Sam's fingers had him absently caressing Dean's hip with the other hand. 

Sam worked his fingers in Dean's ass and started to twist his fingers, searching for his prostate. 

Dean bit back a moan until it came out as a breathy sigh. 

"Pretty sure you're part sasquatch or yeti or something," Dean informed him with his voice muffled by the bed sheets.

Sam had to consciously not make let his voice betray how affected he was by Dean's reaction, "Why's that?" 

"Your fingers are huge." 

Sam snorted an amused laugh and bit back a response that would have not only crossed the tentative patient/doctor line they'd established but would have irreversibly obliterated it.

Dean seemed to sense his hesitation because he fell silent again and shifted until his chest was pressed against the sheets instead of being propped up on his elbows. The new position further bowing his back and put his ass moreover on display.

When Sam's searching fingers brushed against Dean's prostate he jerked in surprise, an unchecked groan muffled by the bed sheets. 

"Found it." Sam muttered as he pressed against the hidden gland.

Dean exhaled a sigh and shifted his hips in an offering, relaxing fully against the mattress. 

With Dean malleable before him, Sam took the opportunity to drink in the sight of the other man. 

Seeing as he didn’t have any tan lines, Sam assumed “workaholic” was polite for how much time he spent indoors. 

His balls were lightly dusted with dark pubic hair, and the skin was a shade or two darker than the skin of his hip that Sam kept rubbing his thumb across. His balls did look like they were engorged.

Sam scoffed to himself. If Dean averaged at least two orgasms a day it wasn’t surprising he was uncomfortable after three days of being denied a release.

“Pretty sure it would be faster if I just jerked off.” Dean supplied looking at Sam over his shoulder. 

“Defeats the purpose of detoxing.” Sam reminded him. 

“How is this gonna be different?” Dean dismissed.

Smiling to himself, Sam renewed his effort to coax Dean dry. Never let it be said that Sam didn’t enjoy proving a point. 

A few minutes later Dean moaned “Fuck” and shifted again, to what Sam assumed was a more comfortable position, until he noticed Dean's hand wrapped around his engorged dick. 

"Hey," Sam chastised, as he released Dean's hip to pull Dean's hand away with a firm grip around his wrist, pinned the wayward hand to the mattress, "not what we're doing this for."

"Come on Sammy." Dean begged, rolling his shoulders again to put his other hand on his dick.

Ignoring the nickname, Sam knocked Dean's second hand away before capturing both Dean's wrists together and holding them immobile against the bed between his spread knees.

"Come on!" Dean whined, bucking his hips back on Sam's fingers.

Sam felt his own dick harden in response to Dean's shameless display.

Objectively, Sam knew he was seeing the disconnect between Dean Smith and Dean the sex addict, but his lizard-brain only saw an aroused, needy partner. 

"Please Sammy, please." Dean begged, "I need-" His plea was cut off with a moan as Sam quickened the speed of his fingers, relentlessly massaging the sensitive gland.

It wasn't long before a steady stream of come was dripping from Dean's dick to land on the back of Sam's forearm before trailing down to pool around Dean's restrained wrists still trapped in Sam's hand.

The warm spunk on his skin had Dean squirming and begging anew, "Sammy I need to come, please, please let me come."

Sam's prodding fingers slowed to long intentional passes over his prostate in time with the clenching muscles around his fingers.

Dean whined and weakly flexed his arms in Sam’s grip, trying to wiggle them free.

“Almost done.” Sam lied in a soothed tone as he curled his fingers to tease out the last drops of come.

Squirming, bucking, and begging until his balls were empty, Dean was only still long enough for Sam to remove his fingers and release Dean’s wrists. 

Sam shamelessly noticed Dean’s balls didn’t look as visibly tight as they had before. 

“You _cannot_ be that much of an asshole.” Dean grumbled watching Sam over his shoulder again. 

The gloves came off with a snap and Sam patted his left flank in a mock-soothing manner. 

As Sam threw the gloves away, Dean sat up and rearranged himself, so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed again.

“I can help with that.” Dean offered. 

It took Sam a moment to realize Dean was referring to Sam’s erection outlined in his scrubs. 

Sam hesitating only a moment before adjusted his dick so it was pinned up and out of the way by the waistband of his scrubs. “That’s not necessary.”

“You sure?” 

Sam watched as Dean propped up a leg, never breaking eye contact as he brought his wrist to his mouth and licked his come off the skin. 

“Fuck.” Sam growled as he covered the space between them in two large strides and grabbed Dean by the back of the neck, pulling him into a rough kiss.

Dean gave an encouraging sound as Sam licked the salty taste from Dean’s lips then off his tongue. A hand in Sam’s hair kept their faces close as Dean quickly worked his other hand under Sam’s shirt to tease at the cockhead peeking over his scrubs. 

“Such a big boy.” Dean cooed into their kiss. Sam shut him up with a harsh nip against his plump lips and drug his scrubs down over his ass so he could expose more of his dick to Dean’s wandering hands.

Dean hummed in approval as he wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock, quickly bringing his other hand up to cover him completely. 

Working a hand under Dean, Sam grabbing a palmful of Dean’s ass and pulled him closer. Encouraging Dean to keep in time with Sam’s quick thrusts into his hands. 

Dean broke the kiss and ducked under Sam’s jaw to nip at the sensitive skin below his ear. 

The suddenness of his orgasm had Sam clenching his teeth and burying his face into the soft fabric of the shirt over Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s strong fingers kept moving over Sam’s cock until every stroke had his body shaking with over sensitivity. 

“Okay stop,” Sam panted, and he moved a hand to still Dean’s fingers, “stop.”

Dean released him and teasingly brushed the soft skin of his wrist over Sam’s cockhead, “Just when it was getting good.” He lamented.

Sam spared him a glance this close. Dean’s green eyes were predatory, watching him half lidded, and his lips were kissed an abused shade of pink from kissing. 

He really was beautiful. 

Moving away before he could say something that would be digging himself a deeper hole than sleeping with a patient ever could, Sam untangled them and stood.

Tugging his scrubs back up over his hips, Sam grabbed his clipboard and steeled his nerves, gathering what little 'cloak of medical professional' he had left after that.

Dean’s issued tee shirt was soiled with a large come spot on his right side, and he was leisurely licking Sam’s come off his hand.

Sam’s dick gave a twinge of interest for a second round.

Glancing at himself in the mirror to check for visible evidence of what they’d done, Sam ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

“You’ve still got three days,” Sam warned.

“Yes doctor.” Dean drawled.

“And don’t-“ Sam couldn’t make himself tell Dean to not flirt with him. 

“I wouldn’t touch myself unless you’re here,” Dean promised with that charming little smirk of his.

Sam practically ran from the room.

 

\- - -

 

Sam was determined not to let Dean run the show during their next session.

He wanted to get to the bottom of why Dean turned to sex as his stress outlet. 

He got as far as sitting down and asking Dean about his sexual history before Dean was sprawling across the couch and asking Sam when was the last he got a blow job. 

“Not as long as you’d like to think.” Sam answered curtly, “Do you typically have sex with people you don’t know or people you do know?” 

“More one night stands than people I know personally. People from bars and such. Do you care to elaborate on your blowjob situation?” 

“I have a casual friend.” Sam supplied. “Have you ever noticed a correlation between your level of stress at work and your sexual activity?” 

“Ah.” Dean hummed in understanding, “Is this a casual friend you take to dinner first, or a friend you call at 11:00 and ask if they’re wearing underwear?”

“My question first,” Sam answered.

Dean sighed and went silent for a moment in thought. “I think some of it is stress related,” Dean admitted after a moment.

Sam lowered his voice as to not break Dean’s train of thought, “How many partners did you have when you first started at your job?”

Dean huffed a humorless laugh, “My dick was a revolving door for about two weeks after I got that promotion.”

“Do you remember another time you thought your number of partners was high?”

Dean went silent and tongued at the inside of his lower lip, a movement Sam was coming to recognize as discomfort. 

“There was this- it sounds fucked up when I think about it.” Dean defended. 

“I’m not going to judge you,” Sam assured him.

With a sigh, Dean continued, “I almost lost my little sister in a car accident in college. She’s fine now, a small scar on her forehead to show for it. A drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and drifted into her lane, hitting her head on. She was in a coma for three days and every night for almost a month after that I was having sex. I mean, a _lot_ of sex. That month was when I lost count of how many people I’d ever slept with.” They were silent for a long moment after Dean’s confession before he shook himself of his thoughts, “I know that’s really fucked up.”

“It’s not all that fucked up.” Sam told him.

Dean gave a grunt of disbelief and changed the subject, “Your casual friend sleep naked?”

Sam was unsurprised at his deflection. “People handle grief differently. Stress and the loss of control probably played a big part in your reaction.”

“I bet she has tan colored bed sheets too.” Dean continued.

Sam started writing his observations and decided to humor Dean, having something to expand on during their next session, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“There is no way you’re a “Don’t kiss and tell” kind of guy.” Dean objected. At Sam’s purse of lips, Dean groaned, “Come on, you can’t be that bad in bed.”

Sam snorted a laugh, “How does that have anything to do with this?”

Dean leaned his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I have a game.” He announced.

“You do now?” 

Dean ignored his patronization, “If I guess the last date, and time, that you called your fuck buddy you, have to show me your dick. Couldn't get a good look last time."

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Date and time?” he repeated.

“Within 15 minutes.” Dean agreed.

“What’s in it for me? If you don’t guess right what do I get?”

Dean sat up, his business persona falling back into place, “I’ll stop flirting with you.”

“I’d rather you try and be more honest with me,” Sam answered offhandedly.

Dean nodded, “Deal. No more trying to hold back.”

“That wasn’t- I’m not saying I’ll do it.” Sam argued.

“What if I guess date, time, _and_ what type of panties she was wearing.”

Sam barked a laugh before he realized Dean was serious. Tucking his clipboard in the fold of the cushion, Sam leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and maintained eye contact, “Deal.”

Dean looked him up and down in thought, licking his lower lip before taking it between his teeth and biting at it for a moment.

“I’m going to bet you last called your fuck buddy,” He glanced at Sam from under his eyelashes before returning his level gaze, “17 days ago.” 

Dean was learning the slightest narrowing of Sam’s eyes was his tell, “She texted you just after 10:00 pm and,” he paused drawing the suspense out, “she wore tiny booty shorts.”

Sam clenched his teeth to keep himself in check. 

Dean was right. 

It was two Sundays ago, she’d texted just after her shift ended at 10:00, and she wore nothing but boy shorts.

When Sam sat back with a heavy sigh, Dean let out a whoop in celebration, “You’re like an open book!”

Sam ignored the surge of affection that bloomed in his chest at the way Dean seemed to understand him without Sam having to say a word. 

“You cheated.” Sam accused.

A mischievous grin spread over Dean’s face, and he dug in his pants pocket, pulling out a familiar cell phone.

He handed Sam back his phone, a smug grin firmly in place. “Deal is a deal.”

Sam snatched his phone from Dean’s outstretched hand, “Knew there was no way you _guessed_ that. How did you get this?”

“You leave it on the sink when you use the bathroom. And I did guess what panties she was wearing.” Dean defended before rubbing his hands together, “Now come on, we don’t have all day.”

Sam watched him for a long moment before tucking his phone away with his clipboard, still clinging to resistance, “I’m going to get fired.” Sam protested.

“Who am I gonna tell?” 

With a groan of surrender, Sam stood and tugged at the drawstring of his scrubs. Hooking his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers, he pulled them down, exposing his dick to Dean’s approving gaze.

“I knew you were big but- Proportional indeed.” Dean purred.

Sam’s dick gave a valiant effort to harden at the praise before Sam could tug his boxers back on. "I could have told you that.” He said sitting back down.

“17 days is a long time for that behemoth to go unattended,” Dean said mildly.

Defenses already up, Sam snapped back, “That an offer?”

“I would be honored to wrap my lips around your fat cock.” 

Sam’s gaze dropped down to Dean’s lips. 

Before Sam could tell him ‘No,' Dean was on his knees between Sam’s parted legs, his hands on Sam’s thighs. 

“Come on Sammy; I promise it’ll be good.”

“Good is not what I’m worried about,” Sam muttered.

Dean grinned up at him and slowly ran his hands up Sam’s thighs to the top of his waistband. Going slow enough Sam could stop him if he chose to.

“Promise you’ll say when?” Dean murmured. 

With Sam’s hand firmly clamped on the arm rests, Dean tugged the waistband down, pausing for Sam to lift his hips so he could slide them over his ass.

Sam sighed as his cock was exposed for the second time, this time already half hard from Dean’s intense focus. 

“17 days is _far_ too long.” Dean confided to Sam’s rapidly plumping dick as he wrapped a hand around the base.

Dean angled Sam’s cock up, the slit already glistening with precome. Looking up to meet Sam’s eyes, Dean leaned forward and flicked his tongue against the underside of his cockhead. 

“Fuck.” Sam sighed. 

“That’s the plan,” Dean replied, his breath teasing along Sam’s dick.

Dean sealed his lips over Sam’s cock head and danced the tip of his tongue over the slit, pulling off until Sam’s dick came free with an audible pop.

Sam moaned and gripped the armrests tighter. 

Holding Sam’s dick firm in one hand, Dean lavished the head of Sam's dick with his lips sealed around the tip. 

The attention to the sensitive tip made Sam squirm and drop a hand to Dean’s hair. He fisted the short strands, to Dean’s approving moan, and held on as Dean bobbed his head. 

His tongue lavishing the underside of Sam’s dick had sparks shooting up Sam’s spine. Dean had just started, and Sam was already close.

“Dean.” Sam moaned weakly as he tugged at Dean’s hair. 

Dean’s own moan danced vibrations up his dick to settle in his balls, bringing Sam that much closer to the edge.

With another suck that felt like Dean was trying to suck his brains out through his dick, Sam snapped. He grabbed Dean by the biceps and hauled him up and into his lap so he could press their lips together. Swallowing Dean’s surprised sound, Sam took command of the kiss.

He dropped a hand down to wrestle with the button of Dean’s pants before Dean got with the program and started helping him.

Once loose, Dean stood from Sam’s lap so he could kick off his pants. Sam mistook Dean’s retreat for hesitation and surged up, capturing his lips again and fisting his hand in Dean’s hair and grabbing a handful of his ass, pulling him close.

Dean made another pleased sound that Sam more than happily swallowed down.

“Couch,” Sam growled.

Dean turned and immediately knelt on the cushions, bracing himself on the backrest.

Sam had half a moment to marvel at his complete surrender with the action before becoming distracted by Dean’s round ass on display. Wasting no time, Sam parted Dean’s ass cheeks to admire the pretty pink color of his hole before dropping to his knees and pressing his tongue against the tight ring of muscles. 

Dean jerked in surprise, but Sam’s quick grab for Dean’s hips pulled him back to Sam’s mouth. 

The sounds Dean kept trying to bite back had Sam working him open with his tongue and fingers as quickly as he dared.

Saliva slick, and stretched enough for Sam to work two fingers into his ass, Dean started getting impatient. 

“Do you make your fuck buddy wait this long?” 

“Only when they’re demanding.” Was Sam’s answer as he licked a long strip from Dean’s balls up to his furled hole. 

Dean gave a groan of frustration, “Get in me already.”

“No, no,” Sam said as he stood and pet a hand up Dean’s back. He felt drunk as he sat next to Dean’s bent form and slouched, his dick needy red and bobbing obscenely in his lap. “Come ’ere and ride me.”

Dean would deny he whimpered at the command, but he covered it up by straddling Sam’s hips and spitting in his hand, using it to further lube Sam’s dick. 

They both groaned as he lined them up and Sam’s dick pressed in, past his tight ring of muscles. 

As Dean sank down inch by inch, Sam stared at the look of concentration on Dean’s face. His eyes closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, the faint color on his cheeks from their exertion making his freckles stand out. 

Sam waited until Dean was fully seated on his dick before putting a hand on Dean’s hip and muttering, “Look at me.”

The wounded sound Dean made at the command tugged something at Sam’s heart, then Dean was opening those bright green eyes and staring at him. 

Sam could see his every insecurity, his every doubt as easily as if he’d said it aloud. The kaleidoscope of emotions was abruptly cut off as Dean looked away and rolled his hips.

Sam moaned at the motion because Dean’s ass was the stuff made of masturbation fantasies, but he wanted Dean’s exposed emotions more.

Cupping Dean’s face in his hands, Sam pulled him down into a fierce kiss before muttering against Dean’s lips, “Don’t hide from me.”

Dean made another of those broken sounds and gave a single nod.

When he rolled his hips the next time, he was watching Sam’s face. 

Sam reveled in Dean’s full attention. Gripping Dean’s hips tightly he bucked up, transfixed as he watched Dean’s eyelashes flutter half mass as they found a rhythm.

Reaching back to brace his hands against Sam’s knees, Dean leaned back and set to work riding Sam’s dick.

A part of Sam knew he should do something about the sounds Dean was making, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. Nothing was more important as keeping Dean bouncing on his dick with that look of rapture on his face. 

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam praised, and he squeezed Dean’s hips and bounced him a little harder, “All the people that have been able to appreciate this sight.”

Sam took away Dean's ability to speak by wrapping a hand around his dick and pumping in time with his thrusts. Dean tightening around him was answer enough.

“I’m gonna come.” Dean panted, continuing to piston Sam’s cock in and out of his hole. “Fuck Sammy, gonna come.” 

“Do it, Dean. Want you to come from riding my dick.” 

The command made Dean keen and cover Sam’s fingers in his spunk. 

Using his other hand, Sam reached up and grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair, pulling him down and into an aggressive kiss. His hips still jack-hammering up as his orgasm swept through him. 

Dean moaned into Sam’s mouth as he felt Sam’s release further slick his ass. 

Keeping a firm grip on Dean’s hair, Sam held him close until his body stopped shaking and his dick stopped pulsing into Dean’s perfect ass.

“Session is officially over.” Dean slurred into Sam’s chest.

Letting out a chuckle, Sam pulled Dean close to breathe in his scent before reluctantly releasing him.

 

They silently got dressed, Dean’s sudden shyness something of a red flag to Sam.

Once their clothes were back on, and the only evidence of their tryst was the sweet beading along Dean’s forehead, and the smell of sex in the air, Dean finally turned to him with the fakest smile Sam had ever witness.

“That was fun.” He offered.

“Yeah.” Sam hesitantly agreed, unsure of where Dean was getting at. 

“So how long do you figure it will take until I’m transferred?” Dean asked shoving his hands into his pant pockets.

Sam frowned at him, “Transferred?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “You know, how long until you’ve found someone else to take on my case.”

“I’m not giving your case to anyone else.” Sam objected. 

Dean’s eyes went a little wide in surprise, “You’re not?” Came his bewildered question.

Sam was taken aback, “Do you want another counselor?”

“Don’t you want another patient?” Dean countered. 

Sam started at him in growing horror. How low was Dean’s self-esteem?!

“How often do you have partners you have sex with more than once?” Sam whispered, trying to reign in his shock. 

Dean looked away, then to the floor, “It’s been a while.” He admitted softly. 

Whatever was between them was too important for Sam to loose over Dean second guessing himself. 

Dean didn’t have to _tell_ him he felt something. Sam just _knew_ there was. This pull between them assured him this wasn’t a passing attraction. 

“If you’re willing, I do want to help you with this compulsion,” Sam said, trying to bring them back to ground Dean felt more comfortable.

Dean mutely nodded.

“I don’t know what will happen if anyone found out, but-” Sam gestured to the door that led to the main corridor. 

Dean’s shoulders dropped, and he nodded his head. “I get it. Your job comes first.” Dean supplied with false bravo.

“Fuck my job,” Sam interjected, surprising him with the honesty of the outburst. 

Taken aback, Dean blinked up at him in surprise.

“Whatever this is-” Sam gestured between them, “-I don’t want to keep you my dirty little secret. You deserve better than that.” 

It felt like a victory when there was no sign of Dean trying to retreat behind his emotional walls, “Thanks, Sammy.”

 

\- - -

 

The last two weeks of Dean’s stay were a blur of stolen kisses and riding a constant endorphin high. 

Sam tried to do his due diligence during their sessions but unsurprisingly, the need to have Dean naked above-or-below him won out before the hour was over.

"I think I'm just addicted to the endorphins." Dean panted as he folded Sam’s knees to his chest, still trying to find the limit to Sam’s flexibility. 

Sam groaned as the angle made Dean’s dick feel like it was threatening to split him open, “Go to the gym.”

"Don't have time." Dean protested. 

Sam dropped a hand to stroke his dick as it bounced against his stomach, “Put- _fuck_ -put a treadmill in your office.”

"I’d get too sweaty. Don't want a full workout."

"Jerk off in the bathroom."

Dean scoffed at the suggestion, maneuvering one of Sam’s legs to rest on his shoulder and the other to wrap around Dean’s hip so he could speed up his thrusts, "You try getting your rocks off when your boss could walk in at any moment."

Sam groaned and wrapped a steadying hand around Dean’s forearm at the new position, "Daily.” Sam reminded him, making his point with an unchecked moan as Dean nailed his prostate, “Your -your boss good looking?" 

"Not my type. Now stop talking or I’m going to think I’m losing my edge.” Dean demanded as he leaned down to capture Sam’s lips in a demanding kiss. 

 

\- - -

 

The second to last day of Dean’s 30-days fell on Garth’s group session. 

Sam’s initial assessment of Dean being a social butterfly was spot on, and he was doing exceptionally well being able to listen in on how others were handling their inclinations. 

He’d finally accepted _trying to gain back control_ was a contributing factor. 

Sam rounded the corner towards the reception desk, heading for the break room when he spotted Garth behind the reception desk. 

Frowning, Sam glanced at his watch, 9:23. 

“Garth?” Sam asked saddling up against the counter. 

“Yeah, Sam?” Garth asked turning from the computer to giving Sam his full attention. 

“Don’t you normally have a class about now?” 

Garth smiled that easy, carefree smile of his, “Sure do.” He chirped. “But as part of a collaboration effort between clinics I gave up a bi-weekly class so a new tech can get her hours in for her degree.” 

The feeling of jealousy coiled in Sam’s chest, “And all your regulars are there?” 

“Can’t get credit for talking to an empty room.” Garth unhelpfully pointed out. 

Sam forced a smile, “Right. Of course.” Sam ducked closer, leaning against the half wall and lowered his voice, conspiratorially. “Garth, would you happen to know this doctor-in-training’s therapy style?” 

Garth huffed a humored laugh and smiled at him, “She’s not going to make a move on your man if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Sam jerked his head around to anxiously look around the empty lobby, waiting for any of the many supervisors to have heard Garth’s lack of tact. 

“Garth!” Sam hissed quickly rounding the desk and picking Garth up by his gaunt arms and shoving him into the supply closet behind the desk, following him in and closing the door behind him. “How many people know!” Sam demanded, trying to keep from yelling. 

Garth blinked up at him, unfazed by the manhandling. “Was it a secret?” He asked confused. 

“Not- not exactly, but it’s- I don’t want to go around announcing it.” Sam sputtered. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Garth reassured him.  
“Sleeping with a patient isn't against the rules.” 

Sam croaked out, “It’s against everything-“ 

“Favors.” Garth happily chirped. 

“-we’re trying to reinstill- what?” Sam hesitated.

“Favors are against the rules.” Garth clarified, “We don’t have any rules against socializing, but we do have guidelines about doing favors.” 

Sam pursed his lips and tried to wrap his head around that. “How is having sex with him _not_ doing him a favor? Dean is here for _Sex Addiction_. Getting him off is just as bad as giving Shelly heroin!” 

Garth gave him a disapproving frown, “Sam, you know Shelly has come a long way in her treatment and has a stronger will than to accept that poison if offered.” 

Sam bit his tongue to counter Dean didn’t have such a strong will, but he knew before he said it, it would be a lie. 

Garth gave him an understanding smile, “People have lots of different creature comforts.” Garth said sagely, “Dean has been sexualizing his feelings of loneliness and fear then projecting that on anyone who is receptive to it. Now that he’s aware of it, I think you’ll notice he’ll only improve.” Garth paused and nodded to himself. “Dean really is a big teddy bear.” 

Sam gaped at him for a moment, trying to think of a rejoinder then remembered Garth had a Master’s Degree in Psychology _and_ Counseling. He had been hired as a licensed therapist a couple of years before Sam had started the beginning of his clinical experience; Garth knew what he was talking about. 

Sam hesitated to voice his question- because as awful as it was, relapse was what kept them in business –but he needed to know.

“So Dean is cured?” Before amending, “Rehabilitated?”

Garth nodded, “I doubt he’ll be back because his support system is so strong.” 

“His family doesn’t even know he’s here,” Sam argued.

Garth let out another of his carefree laughs -as if Sam had repeated the funniest joke he'd ever heard- and set a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder, “His family would support him if they knew, but I was talking about you.”

“Me?” Sam parroted.

Using his lithe stature, Garth leaned around Sam and opened the closet door, “You two.” He chuckled, “Go talk to him after his group session is over.”

 

When Sam brought it up with Dean, Dean gave one of his forced nonchalant shrugs.

“You said you didn’t like your last name.” Dean pointed out.

Sam shook his head, "Yeah?" 

The silent “And?” hung in the air.

Dean picked at his plastic medical bracelet, “What do you think about my last name?” 

Sam blankly stared at him for a long moment. 

“Did you just…” Sam trailed off unable to verbalize what Dean had just….he just proposed. 

“That was awful.” Sam accused.

The happy smile lines at the corner of Dean’s eyes were prominent in the naturally lit room, “You’re an open book.” he said with a shameless shrug before pulling Sam down into a possessive kiss.


End file.
